


Garden of Weeds

by ironicHeadtilt



Category: In the Flesh (TV)
Genre: Fluff, I Love Amy, I know shes missing and im sorry, I mean it doesnt really make sense they can move without blood either but hey there it is, Inside jokes, M/M, Siran - Freeform, Slight Domestic, dont ask me where amy is, hint at zombie sex, i assume it does somehow?, i wrote this in between the last two episodes out of sorrow, lots of fluff, not sure how that works, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-17
Updated: 2014-07-17
Packaged: 2018-02-09 06:00:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1971591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ironicHeadtilt/pseuds/ironicHeadtilt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When an inside joke is taken too far, Kieran and Simon amble around Roarton with a carton of milk.</p>
<p>One-shot that'll warm your heart. Like imagine violins and pianos playing lightly and, like, the Titanic being launched in the bg. It's like, "oh that's nice." but you know. You know really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Garden of Weeds

Two tall glasses of milk created unappetizing puddles of condensation on the wooden kitchen table. It was supposed to be funny, but at this point it was obviously just stupid. It was just a lot of bad decisions and it was about to get worse and Kieran couldn’t remember what the point of this was in the first place. Actually, he was pretty sure there had never been a point. He guessed that was what made it as funny as it seemed literally a minute ago.

Now there were two tall glasses of milk and a suddenly uncomfortable looking Simon sitting in front of him. Kieran’s hands were tucked under the table, eyes fixed on the weird foreign “food.” He looked up at Simon, whose hand was snaking slowly towards his cup. Kieran grabbed his, making sure not to look at it.

“Delicious milk,” Simon said with a strained comical lilt.

“Yes, for normal people, like we are... normal,” Kieran forced a smile and picked the glass off the table, water dripping and careening towards the table. Simon followed, drawing the glass towards himself, sliding it across the wood and leaving a trail of wet.

“I enjoy drinking… liquids like… water… milk,” Simon lifted the glass to his lips.

 

It wasn’t supposed to end this way. It’d been an on-going joke that whenever one of them went out and came back, the other would say, “Oh, did you remember the milk, dear?” and the other would slap their forehead and be like, “Oh fucking shit dammit fucking forgot.” and they would sincerely discuss their dire need for this milk because they’d been out for weeks and it’d been so long since they’d had milk. It was super duper funny.

Then, it felt a little run-down and Kieran was at the store to pick up whatever and he saw the milk.

He didn’t really think about it. He just picked it up. The guy at the cash register gave him a funny look because, obviously, what was he going to do with this milk? Drink it? Of course, there was no backing out of it now. Perhaps he was buying it for the living people he was living with or something. The cashier didn’t know him. He walked all the way home with a carton of milk, feeling pretty fucking funny. He’d look at it and fucking laugh it was so funny to him. He walked in the door and Simon called from the couch in the living room.

“You grab the milk?”

“Yes,” Kieran called back from the kitchen. Simon laughed, turning the TV off and coming to join him. His eyes zeroed in on the carton of milk.

“Oh,” He whispered. He rebounded quickly though. “Well, we should have a couple of glasses right now.”

Which brings us up to speed.

 

Kieran had the edge of the glass to his mouth, actually a little unsure if he remembered how to drink? It felt like the liquid was going to run down his chin. Simon looked like he might’ve actually been drinking. Kieran took a sip.

Simon suddenly turned to the sink and spit out whatever was in his mouth, which was basically a lot of fucking milk.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Jesus,” Simon made weird faces, scraping his tongue against his top teeth. Kieran spit the little bit he had in his mouth into his cup before guffawing.

“This was really dumb,” Kieran almost sang, he was so giddy with how absolutely fucking stupid this was.

“Why in the world would you actually buy the milk?” Simon wiped his mouth furiously. Kieran blew raspberries and shrugged his shoulders, giggling like a little shit.

“It was just there. You should’ve seen the clerk’s face.”

“I bet.” Simon finally laughed. His eyes crinkled as he bit his lip. There was a moment where they both stared helplessly into their unfinished glasses of milk. Simon grabbed his and dumped it into the sink. Kieran got up and followed suit, the milk leaving a weirdly swirly film on the stainless steel of the drain. Simon wrapped his arms around Kieran’s waist, tucking his chin on Kieran’s shoulder.

“What do we do with the rest?” Kieran said, idly weaving his fingers into Simon’s.

“Pour it out,” Simon mumbled into his neck.

“That carton was, like, four bucks.” Kieran pouted lightly.

“Well, we can’t exactly use it.”

“You think we can return it?”

“It’s a third gone. And I’m pretty sure they’d be a little suspicous of what we were doing with milk in the first place.” Simon pressed his lips against the crook of Kieran’s neck.

“We could give it to my parents,” Kieran offered, turning so that the small of his back was pushed against the counter. Simon leaned on him heavily.

“That’s a lot of work,” Simon whined, his fingers running leisurely up and down Kieran’s back.

“It was four bucks,” Kieran reiterated, his eyebrows raising slightly. Simon sighed.

 

“Should I even be here?” Simon murmured, slightly nervous as he stood next to Kieran at the front door of his parent’s house.

“I think so,” Kieran commented nonchalantly. “Calm down.”

He rang the doorbell then knocked on the door. His dad came into veiw, confusedly opening the door. They stayed outside.

“Do you need milk? By any chance?” Kieran said, holding up the mostly full carton of milk. His dad looked like he’d just asked him if they’d run out of adult diapers.

“Why did- what?”

“I just- I bought milk- by accident- and I didn’t want to waste it,” Kieran explained, trying to hand the milk to his dad.

“No, I think we’re good,” He said.

“Oh,” Kieran said.

“We have enough milk. Thank you though.” He said.

“Oh,” Kieran said again, dropping the hand that had the milk, “Okay, I guess we’ll go then.”

His dad shut the door.

“Wow,” Kieran whispered. Simon grabbed his hand, pulling his away from the house.

“So, what now?” He asked, guiding him down the sidewalk aimlessly.

“I don’t know,” Kieran pursed his lips, looking down at this carton of milk that was four units of currency too much to spend when you’re dead and can’t drink milk.

“I’ve heard,” Simon said, squeezing Kieran’s hand and crossing the street. “that milk is great for flowers.”

“I know it’s fucking not, Simon,” Kieran articulated, just a little pissed.

“I’ve also heard,” Simon said softer, “that death is great for humans.”

Kieran grinned sadly, glancing at Simon before directing him forward. They walked in silence, knowing where they were going without speaking. They walked so close the sides of their hips almost touched, their hands the only things stopping them. They were pressed shoulder to shoulder, the milk tapping Kieran’s leg from where it hung loosely from his other hand.

They ended up in the cemetery. Kieran paused; Simon continued forward for a few steps without him. Simon turned, letting go of Kieran’s hand as he did so.

“You coming, honey?” He asked sardonically, offering him his arm instead of his hand. “It’s a nice day for a stroll through the park.”

“Of course,” Kieran said, sticking his nose in the air as he took Simon’s arm daintily. They paraded past the headstones in the weather that was actually good for a stroll in the park. It was still pretty early in the day. The clouds covered the sun but it seemed somehow lighter than if the sky had been clear. Dead grass still clung to the earth; and in some places there was nothing but dirt. The fences were covered in weird scrubby plants.

They were walking among the dead. But they were dead? It was all very weird to think about, like, there were the dead that were dead-ing and the dead that were walking and talking and fucking.

Purple flowers had started to invade Kieran’s grave. He’d noticed some time before they’d started showing up. By now, they were pretty much winning whatever fight the grave had put up. They were heather and they were one of the few flowers that bloomed through the winter. Kieran had found it kinda ironic.

They stood there in front of his grave, silently. Kieran’s hand was still tucked in the crook of Simon’s elbow. In a sudden frenzy, he pulled it free, opened the milk and poured half on top the bunches of purple pedals. He handed the carton to Simon, who poured the other half unceremoniously.

“Worth the money,” Simon commented, holding the empty container aloft.

“Definitely not a waste. Let’s go.” Kieran said flatly. Simon nodded, taking Kieran’s hand as he looked down at the recently violated heather. Simon watched his face, his profile against the melancholy backdrop of his own grave.

“Hey,” Simon whispered. Kieran glanced at him, then looked away, his eyebrows pinching.

“Sorry,” Kieran whispered back. He cleared his throat, turning back to Simon with a forced smile.

“Sorry for what?” Simon’s hand pressed against Kieran’s jawline. Kieran’s smile faltered.

“Nothing, I’m fine.” Kieran kissed Simon lightly, quickly, then tried to walk past him to leave. “Let’s go. Come on.”

“No, hold on,” Simon gripped Kieran’s arm, pulling him into a longer, harder kiss that left Kieran unsteady. His breath was grave and shallow. His smile was gone. Simon didn’t repeat his earlier question.

“I’m, just,” Kieran mumbled, stutteringly. He searched Simon’s eyes, wanting to say what actually meant something. Simon already knew everything. He already knew why Kieran said sorry - always said sorry. He knew why Kieran bought milk and why he couldn’t just dump it into the sink. He knew why they poured it on the weeds that covered his headstone, obscured his name.

“I’m glad I’m not alone.” Kieran finally said, his eyes big and wet. Simon snatched Kieran’s hand, smiling with a slight arrogance Kieran would have to fuck out of him later, and pressed it against his lips.

“Anything for my loving wife,” He said, his eyebrows casting heavy shadows over his eyes.

“Please, you’re obviously the wife here,” Kieran grumbled, kissing him hard, indulging himself in the physical contact. Maybe a little too much for a graveyard. It was getting kinda hard to stand.

The sound of movement stopped them in their tracks, their heads snapping up to see an elderly woman, completely scandalized, with a bokay of sad looking flowers in her hand. Kieran nabbed Simon’s hand and yanked him into a run. They ran at a full sprint all the way out of the cemetery, leaving the old woman to stew in her juices.

They stopped at the entrance, out of breath. Though they weren’t sure if they were really feeling fatigued, or if it was all psychosomatic. Still, they stopped and breathed and laughed hard.

“Holy shit,” Simon huffed, beaming at Kieran. Kieran suddenly stopped and looked at Simon’s hands.

“Where’s the carton?”

“Fuck, I dropped it,” Kieran snorted as Simon looked back into the cemetery.

“You dropped it a very long time ago,”

“Yeah, well,” Simon shrugged.

“We’re not leaving trash at my grave.”

“You are bossy today. Well, I’m not going back in.”

“Seriously?” Kieran groaned. “You left it, not me.”

“You bought milk, not me.” Simon countered then came a step closer to Kieran, more careful now that they’d already been caught once. “I have an idea: we leave it in the cemetery and we go back home and I’ll let you have me any way you like.”

Kieran raised his eyebrows and immediately walked back into the cemetery.

Simon wasn’t entirely shocked. Kieran got a few paces ahead before Simon ran after him, digging his hands into his pockets as he caught up.

“I’m hurt, Kieran,” Simon whispered on a cold breath.

“I thought you weren’t coming in.” Kieran countered.

“Wouldn’t want to force you to face the old woman alone.”

“I’m fine. You can go back if you want.”

“But really-” Kieran turned, wrapping his arms around Simon’s neck and leaning until their lips almost touched; fuck the elderly.

“Because I’m going to go back and grab the shit you left AND have you any way I like when we get home, too.” His lips just barely missed Simon’s as he spoke. Then he licked his lips, tapping Simon’s with his tongue. Simon’s breath hitched. Kieran untangled himself, spinning lightly on his heel and moving in the direction of his grave. Simon stood where he was, watching as the old woman passed Kieran, hands empty. She glared at Simon as she slowly passed him. Kieran continued on without interruption.

 

The carton was on the nightstand. It was muddy and soggy and gross, but that didn’t seem to matter much. It turned out to be too much work to stop anywhere before they got to the bed. The late afternoon sun slid through the curtains, catching particles and holding them in suspense.

Simon was very glad bruises didn’t seem to show up on his skin. If he’d been alive, he’s not sure how he would’ve covered them.

They’d fallen asleep in rather awkward and in no way cuddly positions. They were rather sprawled out, tangled instead of woven. The blanket was not much better. Simon had woken up when the clouds had dispersed just enough and the sun had hit just the right angle for it’s eye-burning light to come through the shades and hit Simon directly in the face.

Kieran was breathing gently through his mouth. It wasn’t exactly snoring, but it wasn’t just mouth breathing. It was the noise a puppy makes when it’s sleeping. Simon really enjoyed that metaphor and decided to tease Kieran about it later.

He rolled himself out of bed, not really being careful not to wake his sleepy bedfellow. Kieran didn’t wake up, regardless. He stretched as he surveyed the room, his eyes falling on the slightly wet carton of milk that occupied the side table. He shook his head, running his fingers through his hair to get it out of his face.

Simon plucked the empty container up and left the room. He wandered into the kitchen and stuck the carton in the technically useless fridge they owned and he sighed as he listened to the lulling whispers of the house he shared.


End file.
